


Werepire

by BurningTea



Series: Season 11 fic [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Coda, Episode: s11e04 Baby, Ficlet, For the first time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sam POV, Season 11, Werepire mention, because I've got to do my bit towards the 50000 Netflix fics, netflix, this coda thing is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets the wrong end of the stick when Sam and Cas watch TV together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werepire

Cas barely looks up from the TV when Sam walks in to his room. 

“Um. Hey, Cas,” Sam says, and manages to hold his grin down at a level which won’t make Cas think he’s missing a joke. Cas misses a lot more jokes than he knows he does. Sam figures it’s just because Cas, no matter how long he’s spent down here with them, still has trouble focusing his attention on some of the more everyday things in life. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Cas says. He waves a hand at the screen, which pauses. “Do you know why Scully is so skeptical, when she is the one who has faith in a higher power?”

Sam feels that familiar sense of the conversation unrolling in unexpected directions that he often gets around Cas. It’s easier, in some ways, just to let Dean talk to the angel. It seems to annoy Dean, sometimes, the way Cas lands on topics at odd times and from odder directions, but there’s always some need to get it with Dean. Sam found, in that long stretch of time when his brother was slipping further and further under the Mark, that trying to really get everything Cas said was a fool’s errand. If he lets Cas waffle for long enough, he generally finds a way to jump back in. Up until then it’s really more a case of jogging alongside and waiting.

This one is only a case of strolling in comparison to some of the conversations they had when Dean was missing.

“Faith in God isn’t the same as faith in aliens,” Sam says. “I mean, do you believe in aliens?”

“I don’t believe in God,” Cas mutters, his whole face pulling into a scowl.

“Yeah, right,” Sam allows, and drops his bag by the dresser. “But you do know he exists.” He tries not to be thrown by Cas adamant refusal to confirm that, even though God skipping out on Cas is hardly the same as ceasing to exist. Now maybe isn’t the time to bring up the visions. “And we all know ghouls exist, and ghosts and demons and vampires.”

Cas snorts.

“You aren’t saying you’ve lost faith those are real?” Sam asks, deciding maybe this conversation is less of a stroll after all.

“I was thinking of something Dean said,” Cas said, because of course he is. “He told me you were hunting a hybrid.”

“Uh, yeah. Not so much. Just something pretty rare.”

Cas shakes his head and Sam is surprised to hear him mutter ‘Werepires’ under his breath.

“Dean tried to push that one on you, too, then?” Sam asks. “He’s got the worst taste in names. It’s a good job he’s never had a pet. Can you imagine what he’d call it?”

“No,” Cas says. “Do you think he’d like a pet?”

“Not…really.” 

Sam ushers Cas over and swings himself on to the bed. He has to adjust the pillow to make the headboard at all comfortable, and he notes that Cas hasn’t got the hang of this, sitting cross-legged with that blanket Dean kept wrapping him up in across his knees.

“Are you enjoying X-Files?” Sam asks. He never got to know the show well enough to be able to tell how far into it Cas is from the frame it’s frozen on. Scully looks kind of pissed at Mulder, but that doesn’t narrow it down a lot.

“It’s irritating,” Cas says. “It won’t decide whether the paranormal is real or not, and every time it seems to be making a decision it tries to take it back.”

“Messing with your angelic need for clarity?” Sam says. He lets some of the warmth he feels for Cas infuse the words. It can’t hurt Cas to feel welcomed, even if he is taking up a lot of Sam’s bed right now.

Cas pulls the blanket from his knees and unfolds it, frowning down at it as though he’s only just noticed it’s there. One of his long fingers picks at a loose thread.

“I don’t need everything to be perfectly clear,” he says, but he sounds like he’s at least partly trying to persuade himself. 

“It’s good, though, to get some things straight,” Sam says, and he lets himself settle down more at the thought he’s keeping no secrets from Dean. 

It’s a new feeling, a light feeling. There’s still the press of responsibility at freeing the Darkness, whatever Dean thinks about being the one to blame, and he’d have liked Dean to agree the visions could be from God, but Sam can wait until his brother comes around on that one. Cas will be so happy once he accepts his dad is back helping. The thought has Sam glancing at his friend and smiling.

At his friend who’s still frowning, still playing with that loose thread.

“I suppose,” Cas says at last, begrudgingly. It has the sound of longing in it, something Cas is nowhere near as good at hiding as he thinks he is.

Sam feels his smile pull into a grimace and looks down at his own hands. Hell, it’s not like he hasn’t tried. He couldn’t have been much clearer with that whole finding someone who understands the life bit, but Dean still hadn’t bitten. 

“He’ll come around, Cas,” he says, before he can stop himself. 

Cas’ hand stills. His shoulders stiffen. His eyes widen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. 

He’s still a crappy liar. Sam lets it go for now. He’s too tired to deal with this with the focus it would need and it’s not like either one of the stubborn bastards react well to being forced into anything. Sam might just have to accept that this is one case he can’t solve.

Instead, he nods at the TV, the pillow giving under his head as he does so. Just that reminder that he’s almost in bed is enough to make him yawn.

“So, you wanting to watch more?”

In answer, Cas waves his hand and the episode starts up again. Sam drifts off before Scully even gets through her response to Mulder’s theory, Cas still sitting by his legs. 

 

*****************************

 

The clatter of crockery from the kitchen and the scent of coffee have Sam wandering in there instead of heading right for the bathroom. He finds Dean dropping toast onto a plate and Cas peering at the coffee-maker. He looks about as certain of it as he was of Scully and her relationship with faith. Neither one of them look at Sam as he joins them in the kitchen. 

Dean, at least, looks healed. Sam woke up injury-free, as well, so either Cas decided not to risk being denied the chance or Dean swung by Sam’s room and ordered it. Dropping into one of the seats, Sam runs a hand through his hair and pulls a face at the greasy feel. Driving right through and sleeping in the Impala is a young man’s game, and much as he enjoyed pretending with Piper, he’s not a young man anymore. His body can’t take it.

“Any chance of a coffee?” he asks.

Cas doesn’t jump. He just half-turns and glowers at Sam as though something is his fault.

“I don’t know if this has worked right,” he mutters.

As Dean just snorts and continues smearing butter onto the toast, Sam pushes himself up from his seat and goes to see what the problem is. It turns out to be nothing.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he says, grabbing a mug and pouring himself a mug. “You want some?”

Cas shakes his head, catches himself, and nods slowly, as though testing something out. When Sam hands him he mug, Cas’ fingers curl around it slowly, like maybe he thinks it isn’t really for him. 

“It’s just coffee, Cas,” Sam says, that same affection in his voice that he felt last night. “It isn’t going to bite.”

“Some liquids can act as carriers for creatures who would bite your arm off and suck out your soul,” Cas says, but he says it the same way a normal person would ask how Sam had slept, and takes the mug to the table. 

Dean just grunts when Sam takes him a mug. There’s tension in him that shouldn’t be there. Perhaps he’s still not happy about letting Cas heal him. Sam leaves him to it and joins Cas, his shoulder bumping against his friend’s as he reclaims his seat. Why Cas has to sit on the end he isn’t sure, but far be it from Sam to cause the guy any more angst by asking him to move. Something of Dean’s anxiety about Cas taking off has rubbed off on Sam, and he’s just wary enough not to tell Cas he has to leave so much as a seat.

“So, what are your plans for today?” he asks, once he’s a good way down the mug. It’s not bad coffee, he’s got to admit, even if it is a bit strong. “Dean’s probably going to be fixing up the car, so do you want to help me out with sorting out the filing system? Sounds like the sort of thing your ordered angel-mind would like.”

That gets a curl of Cas’ lip, as though Sam’s told a joke. 

Before he can ask what’s funny, Dean swears, the ringing smash of a plate on tile following a split-second later, and Sam jerks his head up to see shards of white plate at Dean’s feet. 

Cas is out of his seat in moments, hovering at Dean’s side with one hand slightly out, as though itching to heal any cuts or scrapes. Dean glances at him, his mouth tightening, and looks back at the mess at his feet.

“Doubt you can heal a plate, Cas,” he says, a clear dismissal, before squatting and starting to gather up the shattered pieces. 

“Dean’s got that, Cas,” Sam says, because Dean does not like people in his space when he’s sorting something out, and it really isn’t a two man job. “Come listen to my plans for the anthropology section.”

Cas sighs and follows Sam out, glancing back at Dean as they go. Dean doesn’t look up, his whole back tense with agitation. Sam figures he’s doing both of them a favour by taking Cas off to do something else for a bit. He will never understand why Dean is so short with Cas. For a smiting-machine of celestial force, Cas is actually really sweet.

 

**************************************************

 

“Cas!”

Cas looks up as Dean’s call echoes through the bunker, half out of his chair before the echo has even faded. Sam leans over and taps the book in front of Cas.

“He isn’t going to explode if you don’t turn up at once, you know,” he tells his friend.

Cas glances at him dubiously, as though he’s got some knowledge of Dean exploding that Sam doesn’t have, and looks torn. 

“Seriously, Cas. Sit down. He needs to get used to you not just fluttering up as soon as he bellows.”

“I never fluttered,” Cas says, sounding far more offended than he needs to. 

“Zapped in, flew, whatever you want to call it,” Sam says. “In any case, Dean’ll be yelling about something that doesn’t need yelling about and you were going to tell me which section that book belongs in.”

They’ve got a couple more books sorted by the time Dean stomps into the room and looms over Cas, who looks up at him with an expression that’s way too contrite for an angel. 

“You can’t hear me all of a sudden?” Dean demands. 

“I heard you-” Cas starts.

“Then what’s with sitting here and ignoring me?”

“Leave him alone, Dean,” Sam says. “He’s helping me with the books, and you were probably shouting for him to pass you a spanner or something.”

Dean looks stunned, as though Sam’s slapped him, but the expression is shuttered away quickly, leaving that blank look Sam hates. Damn it. And they’d come back from that hunt in such a good place, as well. 

“Okay, then,” Dean says, stiffly. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt this little date you’ve got going.”

And he’s out of the room before Sam can think of a retort, because…date?

“No idea what crawled up his ass,” Sam says, in an attempt to put Cas at ease. 

He hopes as soon as he’s said it that it’s one saying Cas knows, because being asked what Sam thinks might have crawled up Dean’s ass is not a conversation he feels up to facing right now. Or ever. Actually, maybe he shouldn’t keep giving Dean nudges about Cas, because he’ll be the one Cas comes to for advice, he just knows it, and blackmail material is all well and good, but no-one needs to know that much about their own brother’s-

“Is Dean all right?” Cas asks, throwing off Sam’s train of thought. The guy sounds worried. 

“He’s just being Dean,” Sam says. 

Cas looks unconvinced, which makes sense, because so is Sam. A few minutes later, Sam makes the excuse of going to make more coffee and goes in search of his brother. He finds him hiding out in his room, his headphones on and door mostly closed. Sam pushes it open and fixes him with a stare until Dean lifts one headphone and scowls back.

“What?”

“You mind explaining what that was? You’ve got Cas worried.”

Dean pulls the headphones down around his neck and crosses his arms over his chest. The music still blares out, tinny and small, so he isn’t planning on this being a long conversation.

“So? You can hold his hand for him, rub his back or something.”

Sam blinks, because…what? 

“Seriously, what’s gotten into you? You were glad to be back last night, talking about getting Cas to watch your favourite shows with you.”

Dean shrugs, but the way he looks away, his eyes darting round the room, tell Sam he’s hit some nerve without even meaning to.

“Is this something about getting back?” No reaction. “About watching TV?”

Ah. A shift of the shoulders.

Sam gives himself a moment, going over anything that could have ruined Dean’s good mood, and has to stop himself from laughing, because this is clearly not funny to everyone.

“Is this because I was watching TV with Cas before you could?”

Pulling his headphones off completely, Dean is up from the bed and a foot from Sam in seconds, his eyes hard.

“You weren’t exactly watching, were you? You were snoring you sweet little head off with Cas right on the bed next to you.”

That stops Sam short. Any urge to laugh flees in the face of the bizarre statement.

“Wait. Are you…? Dean, are you saying you think that me and Cas…? But, you know that he… I mean. Er. You do know, right?”

Turning away, his head bowed, Dean more or less mutters his next words.

“I had my suspicions, sure. All that sneaking around you were doing. But I thought, nah, they’d tell me. No way would they be carrying on now, after all that talk about being honest with each other.” He lets out a bitter laugh. It’s small and painful. “Looks like I got that as wrong as the fucking werepires.”

“They were kind of-” Sam starts, but he’s cut off again.

“He healed you by stroking your leg, Sam. You got any idea how weird that was to watch?”

It’s pretty weird to be told about. Sam needs to have another talk with Cas about appropriate physical boundaries, but to be fair…angel. It’s got to be odd getting his head around which parts of a body count as public access with family and which don’t. Which is not the point right now.

“I can imagine,” he says. “But, Dean, you don’t seriously think there’s anything like that between me and Cas?” 

“Why not? You saying he’s not good enough for you?” Before Sam can think how to answer that one, Dean pushes on. “And you were really bothered those fanfiction girls didn’t have Samstiel in their show.”

“I was joking around,” Sam says. He pauses, thinks about the wisdom of his next words, and decides fuck it. Nudging has clearly not worked and now it’s important to stop Dean thinking Cas has rejected the advance Dean has never actually made. “And trying to see if I could get you to admit to it.”

“To what?” Dean isn’t looking at him.

Last chance to turn back. 

“To the massive crush you have on Cas.”

He sees Dean flinch and loses his patience.

“Look, Dean, it’s not like I’ve missed the way you look at him, and what with all that cradling and wrapping him in blankets last week, I was pretty sure you were about ready to open up. And, yeah, even before that I used to think, maybe, something had happened. Do you remember what you were like when you came back from Purgatory?”

Dean turns and looks at him, something like shell-shock on his face. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything.

“And it’s not just you, before you say anything. The only reason he didn’t come running when you shouted is I told him to make you wait. I thought you were just going to boss him around over nothing again.”

“I was going to ask him to watch TV,” Dean says, sullen and wary. 

Sam doesn’t point out that it’s hardly a reason to bellow Cas’ name the way Dean did. 

“So you were going to ask my boyfriend on a date?”

From the way Dean’s head snaps up, Sam realises it’s way too soon for jokes. He holds up his hands and switches to a calm, measured tone of voice.

“Sorry. He’s not my boyfriend. Pretty sure he wants to be yours.”

Dean has that look about him now that says he wants to be mollified but isn’t quite ready to let it happen.

“I don’t know,” he says. “The two of you have a lot in common. The filing and research and refusing to use my names for things.”

“Oh, Cas uses your stupid names for things,” Sam corrected. At the flash of hope in Dean’s eyes, he goes on. “He called them ‘werepires’ last night.”

That should not have been the clincher, but Dean finally drops the hunched, hurt look and manages a small smile.

“He did, huh?”

Sam nods.

“Well, of course he did. Dude’s awesome.” Dean’s smile grows, and he fidgets.

“Just go and tell him, Dean. Drag him to watch some TV and fucking tell him,” Sam says.

He steps out of the way as Dean breaks into a grin and vanishes into the corridor, shaking his head to himself and running his hand through his hair. Huh. Still greasy. Probably time to get around to that shower. It’s not like he wants to be around for whatever awkward and emotional conversation his brother and his best friend are going to have. Those two have more loaded emotions than any of the those terrible soap operas Dean loves.

When Sam gets out of the shower, he finds Dean and Cas sitting side by side on his bed, Dean in the middle of explaining why Scully is so awesome and just like Cas, and Sam sidles out of view before they can see him. He’s no idea how he’s finally managed it, but he’ll gladly sacrifice his bed to a Netflix date.

He does make a mental note to go back in a bit and turf them out before they can get to the next part of their date. There’s only so much a man can give up for the sake of his brother’s love life, and the purity of his bedding is not one of them. 

It turns out he isn’t in time, but at least Dean’s put down that damn blanket.

**Author's Note:**

> Because it killed me that Dean did not hear Cas use his daft name for the monster.
> 
> Let me know what you like.


End file.
